


And If You Sail Away, I Will Follow You

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Post-Felina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse finds refuge, if only for a night, and finds someone unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And If You Sail Away, I Will Follow You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Senri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senri/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad, and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Title is a lyric from "One More Night" by Phil Collins. 
> 
> Warning: References to canonical character death(s).

Jesse was running out of places for he and Brock to stay as they tried to make their way out of New Mexico without running afoul of the police, old enemies, or the New Mexico Child, Youth and Families Department. There weren’t enough sleazy motels (at least of the ones he could stomach bringing Brock to), churches and Park-and-Rides to keep going. He had to think of something else.

He very briefly considered calling his parents, but decided against it. They were too close to where he was trying to escape from, and he couldn’t think of facing them without wanting to shrivel like a dead houseplant. Badger and Skinny Pete were probably on some radar, too, and outside of that, his options were limited. 

There was one he hadn’t thought of until now, however.

He stared at the number on his burner phone – even they had internet now, thankfully – and sucked in a breath as he looked at it. He should call, he should ask… the man would probably, no, most definitely tell him “no”, anyway. He lived in Phoenix now, though, and that wasn’t far away; in fact, it was exactly in the right direction that Jesse planned to go, the direction he planned to take Brock.

And he was a man that Jesse knew he needed to speak with before he left, even if it resulted in a broken nose or even an arrest.

Jesse poked his finger against the touch screen, watching as the number appeared on his screen. He looked at the sleeping Brock, huddled in a blanket in the back seat of his car, and hit the green “call” button.

He was about to about to hang up after he heard five rings, but something made him keep the phone at his ear until he heard a deep voice inquire, “Hello?”

“Mr. Margolis?” Jesse breathed out. His throat was too dry. He didn’t know if he could speak. He didn’t even know what to say. Maybe it wasn’t even him… but no, that was his voice. That was certainly his voice. He could still remember it screaming at him that day he’d come in and thrown Jesse across the room, still high, and Jesse had tried to fight him with that bat. He shivered.

“Who is this?”

“This is…” He wanted to tell the man not to hang up, but realized that Donald Margolis did not owe him a damn thing, except maybe a swift kick in the ribs. He’d certainly had enough of those over the past five months. “This is Jesse Pinkman. I don’t… know if you remember me, but I… Jane and I were seeing each other when she…”

Donald cut him off.

“Yes. I remember you. What do you want?”

“Mr. Margolis,” Jesse’s voice was soft and desperate. “I don’t have any right to ask you for anything, but I… I’ve been trying to… I have a child with me, an eight year old child and we just need a place to stay for a… a night, or a day or two.”

There was a long pause, and Jesse was pretty sure that Donald had either already hung up or was picking up a second phone in order to call the police.

“A child?” he inquired. “Yours?”

“… Now he is, yes. He’s… my ex-girlfriend’s child. But… she’s gone now and there’s no one. No one except for me. I have to get him somewhere safe.”

“Gone… gone how?”

Jesse swallowed. 

“I can… I could tell you when I’m there. Or you can turn me away just please… I can’t on the phone.”

He heard Donald sigh on the other end of the line. 

“All right. I’ll talk to you when you get here. But when I want you gone, you need to be gone, or else I’m calling the cops. A lot of people are out there looking for you. I didn’t even know you were alive. They think you’re dead…. Get here and we’ll talk.”

***

Jesse pulled up in front of Donald Margolis’ house, popped open the driver’s side door and then went around to open Brock’s door and undo his seatbelt. He had been quiet for so much of their travels, probably still shaken up by all the changes. As soon as Jesse got out of town, he needed to find Brock a stable place, a safe place. Somewhere he could live and grow. 

Somewhere he could learn to put the loss of Andrea behind him… If he ever could. Jesse knew he would never be able to; he would always hear that pop, always see her fall down the stairs, always hear himself screaming so loud in his head but so muffled by that horrible gag.

He shivered as he took Brock’s hand in his, both at the thought and at the cold. He hoped this worked out; there was no way he could let Brock sleep in the car tonight. 

Jesse pressed his finger against the doorbell, listening as it chimed inside. It was too loud. He shook a little bit. Sudden loud sounds always spooked him now, always made him feel like Todd and Jack were creeping right behind him, ready to end him and Brock once and for all.

Donald’s face appeared behind the door suddenly, and Jesse shivered hard. He didn’t have much time to think about it, however, before the door was opened and Donald was ushering the two of them inside, out of the cold. 

Brock wrapped his arms around himself when they got into the house, and Jesse looked at him with a pang. Hopefully this would work out. This had to work out.

“Mr. Margolis,” Jesse started, “Thank you… Thank you so much. I don’t know what we would have done… It’s cold tonight. I’m willing to earn my keep and I’ll leave as soon as you need me to, I promise.”

Donald took a seat on the couch and looked up at Jesse. He hadn’t spoken, not yet, not until now.

He looked at Jesse and said, “Jane said you should stay.”

***

Jesse had been sitting on the couch sipping the coffee Donald made him for what felt like a half hour of awkward silence before he finally spoke up and asked, “Did you say that Jane said I could stay?”

He had gone back and forth on asking, assuming at first that he had clearly misheard and would get thrown out on his ass if he asked about it and then thinking that he must have heard him right but that it meant Donald had clearly lost his marbles. The man had shot himself in the head, after all. That didn’t bode well.

Donald nodded.

“I know it might sound odd to you…” he started, looking back and forth between Jesse and Brock, the latter of whom was wrapped up in a blanket and watching muted Ghostbusters. “But after… After. Jane came to me. She appeared. I’d started wearing this.” He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out a pendant on a chain. “It was hers. A gift from her mother when she was just a baby. After I started… I started to see her. She’s still up in her room like nothing happened. She talks to me.”

Now, Jesse was absolutely certain that Donald had lost his mind, but there wasn’t anywhere else for him and Brock to go, so he was stuck with him, crazy or not.

“I think we’d better head to bed,” he commented gently. “Thank you again for your hospitality. You didn’t need to…” He rose from his spot and extended his hand for Brock to follow him. 

“It’s nice to have another person around. Who knew her, I mean,” Donald replied. His eyes were off looking somewhere else.

“Is she here right now?” Jesse asked; he didn’t know if he believed in the possibility, probably didn’t, but he had to ask. 

Donald shook his head.

“Her room, like I said.”

***

Jesse put Brock to bed in one of the guest rooms, a cozy little guest room with a tan blanket, a desk, and a tiny lamp. He figured the kid must be relieved to finally be sleeping in a real bed and in a house, even if it wasn’t his own house. Jesse needed to get on that; he needed to get somewhere he could buy a real house.

But that wouldn’t happen tonight.

He shut the door to Brock’s room and started towards the one Donald had said he could stay in; but he found himself lingering in the doorway and looking back towards the hall. There were two other bedrooms; one must be Donald’s – he gestured silently towards the master bedroom – and that would lead the remaining to be Jane’s, eternally Jane’s even though she must not have lived at home in a few years. 

Jesse scuffed one foot against the dark green carpet and made his way towards Jane’s room, as if attached to another dog run, pulled by an invisible chain. He had no right to step in there and he knew that, but something wouldn’t allow him to turn back, even the obvious knowledge that if Donald caught him in there, there would be hell to pay and he’d be back to trying to find a shelter for the night all over again.

He pressed his hand against the door and allowed it to gently open in, peeking inside at a room painted a shiny gray (he could picture she and Donald arguing over her wanting her room painted black), with posters of rock bands on the walls and canvases hanging at the far edge of the room.

He pushed the door a little further before stepping inside.

There was a framed professional photo sitting on a desk; Jane in a cap and gown, looking very young but still very much the same. Jesse smiled at it, at her. She was beautiful even then. She always had been.

There was an old jewelry box on another shelf, and a box that looked like it was filled with old papers and folders and things. Taped up on the wall amongst the posters were a few of Jane’s sketches, mainly women in sprawling displays, sometimes with wings and painted in blacks and pinks and blues.

Jesse sucked in a breath, desperate to stay silent even as he heard, faintly, whispered in his ear the single word: “Jesse.”

He turned, trying to figure out the source, but there didn’t seem to be anyone there. Perhaps it had only been his imagination; in this room full of everything Jane had cared about and everyone she had been, it wouldn’t be that odd for his brain to bring up her voice, that beautiful voice he hadn’t heard since the day her voicemail had been shut off.

Jesse stepped forward again, found himself picking up a framed photograph and tilting it back. Jane and her father, smiling, arms around each other like nothing had ever gone wrong in either of their lives.

He noticed Jane was wearing a long-sleeve shirt in what looked like summer, though. Pictures could be deceiving.

He safely placed the photo back on to the shelf and let out another breath, his eye catching on a necklace that was hanging on a hook behind it. It was made out of some sort of metal, a design of a girl that looked almost like a mermaid, or maybe a witch, Jesse couldn’t tell; further inspection proved it to be the same necklace Donald had shown him earlier.

He reached out and put his hand on it. It was warm.

“Jesse.”

This time he didn’t look around for the source of the voice; instead, he knew. It came from something here, something that brought Jane back to him.

This was what Donald had been talking about. 

Jesse held the necklace, not removing it from his spot in the wall but gently basking in its glow, loving it, drinking it in like sunlight. 

“Jane,” he whispered back. “I’m here.”

“Jesse… You’re here.”

He shut his eyes and could see her face, could match it to the words.

“Yes. You’re home. You… you didn’t go very far.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re still painting the same door,” Jesse mused. 

“You’re still looking for the same thing,” Jane replied, “Have you found it?”

He opened his eyes and turned back towards the room where Brock slept.

“I don’t know.”

Jesse felt tears poking at his eyes and rubbed his free hand across his face. He was still running, always running. 

“I’ll let you sleep,” he told her softly, and let go, turning to walk back to his room.

***

They packed to leave in the morning.

“Thank you… for your hospitality. You didn’t owe me anything, Mr. Margolis, and I… if there’s anything I can ever do for you to repay the favor, you just let me know,” Jesse told him, extending his shaking hand.

“There’s nothing that I need,” Donald told him. “Just a quiet life here with Jane.”

Jesse looked down. He could barely bring himself to ask the question.

“Could I… bring her with me?” he asked quietly. “The necklace. That’s how you talk to her. You were right. The necklace, she’s… I’m flying blind, Mr. Margolis. I need someone to show me the right way. She can… She can help me.”

Brock looked up at the conversation, seeming to want to say something but deciding against it.

Donald looked around. 

“You’d bring her back? Send her back? When you get where you’re going?” he inquired. “I need… She needs me.”

Jesse looked down.

“I need her,” he whispered.

Donald tilted his head back a little and nodded.

“Keep her safe.” It was an order and a plea, and Jesse nodded feverishly. This time, he would.

***

“The necklace you were talking about,” Brock spoke up when they piled into the car. “You can both… hear… Jane in it? Your old girlfriend?”

Jesse nodded.

“That’s right,” he whispered. He knew it sounded crazy, but maybe it was only the mind of a child that could actually accept this as reality and not just tell Jesse that he was crazy, even though maybe he was; maybe the six months at the compound would have made anyone crazy, maybe shooting yourself in the head would have made anyone crazy too. Maybe they were both just off on the same cloud together, a cloud a few universes away from what any rational person would think was going on in the world.

But it was better than the alternative, that Jane and Andrea were gone forever, were lost forever because of him. Living in the shadows was brighter than not existing at all, not even in a voicemail.

“I know,” Brock spoke up quietly. He reached in his pocket and came out with a rosary made of some sort of mahogany wood, at least it looked that way. He held it up to Jesse. “I do it too.”

Jesse nodded, his throat dry, not having any words that would adequately respond to what Brock had told him.

He buckled his seatbelt and put the car into drive.

The four of them had a long journey ahead.


End file.
